I’m a New Adult Romance author who loves writing about what happens when love and dreams collide with the real world. I wrote my first novel, Dance for Me, in daily chunks in a very busy, very noisy coffee shop, which meant I had to order a black Americano every hour, on the hour, to keep my seat and wound up wired on caffeine most days. I hit the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists in summer 2013. Unlike my characters, I can’t dance.

Before Undercover, I wrote the Fenbrook Academy series of New Adult romances: Dance For Me, In Harmony and Acting Brave.

There are some moments you know you’re going to remember for the rest of your life. I know this, because one in particular has burrowed so deep into my soul that it’s never coming out. I remember the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach as the car fell. It was my life, dropping out from under me. The feeling that nothing is ever going to be alright again.

This was the same and yet different. That was an ending; this was something beginning.

I’d stepped away from the bed and towards the door. That single step probably saved my life. If I’d still had my hand on the laptop, he’d have known for sure I was a spy and I would have been carried out of that room in a bloody, plastic-wrapped bundle.

I saw shock on his face and then, just for a split second, another look, one I couldn’t even process, right then—I filed it away for later. Then anger, and a quick glance at the laptop.

Some instinct made me keep my eyes on him. If I’d looked at the laptop, my fate would have been sealed. But I just stood there, mouth open, as he closed the distance between us.

One huge hand slammed into my chest, the palm right on the valley of my upper breasts. He pushed me back against the door, the hard wood jarring me painfully. He kept coming, stopping when his face was inches from mine. The whole world narrowed down to the throbbing heat of his hand against my skin and those burning, ice-fire eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” he demanded.

We stared at each other as I took panic breaths through my nose, my lips a tight line of fear. His hand, pinning me to the door, might as well have been made of warm iron. He had me so firmly that I couldn’t even wriggle to the side. And despite my mounting panic, I was aware of the side of his thumb and the side of his pinky finger as they framed the tops of my breasts. Every breath made the soft flesh push and swell around them and a black, twisting energy shoot straight down to my groin. What the fuck is wrong with me?!

In my earpiece, I could hear panicked whispers as Adam, Roberta and the others tried to figure out what to do. Burst in and rescue me? Wait and see how it played out?

His words were replaying over and over in my head. It was the first time I’d ever heard him speak in English. His accent was heavy, softening some syllables and making others granite-hard. His fffuck was like a slow penetration followed by a jerk of the hips.

What the hell is wrong with me?! I wondered again. I had to answer him, had to think of some way out of this, but my mind was stuck on endless loop, replaying his words. Any second now, he was going to snap and just kill me.

So I did the only thing I could think of. I squeezed my eyes shut to try to break the loop and saw that image of him as he’d come out of the bathroom. The shock on his face, flicking momentarily to another look.

Pleasure.

Just for a fraction of a second, the ghost of a smile had touched his lips. Not the fake smile he’d given the women downstairs. A smile that actually reached those cold eyes, thawing them a little. It had been gone in an instant, but it had been there. He’d been pleased to see me.

The implications of it were still detonating like fireworks in my chest when I opened my eyes and said, “I was looking for you.”

He went utterly silent. His eyes flicked over my face, fast and brutally efficient, searching for any trace of a lie.

He didn’t find one because, on some level, I think I was telling the truth.

He inched his head back from me, but he didn’t release me. He was getting a better look at me, I realized. He’d been entirely focused on my face, but now his eyes swept down over my chest, my hips, my legs. Something like a hot shudder went through me and I felt a flush rise in my cheeks. That feeling I’d had downstairs was back, that sense of being locked onto each other like magnets, close enough now that I twisted and turned to mimic his movements.

As he looked at me, I looked at him. He was nearly a head taller even with me in my heels, and his frame blocked out almost all of the light from behind him. With the black suit, he looked like he was made of shadow except for those blazing blue eyes. But it wasn’t his size so much as the solidity of him, the realness. Next to him, I felt like a faded, worn-thin copy of a person.

And the weirdest part was, as I stood there pinned against the door, I could feel the energy of him flowing into me, reawakening me. After years spent frozen and slowly dying, I finally felt alive again.

He took a long, slow breath and leaned in closer to me again. He was wearing some cologne I didn’t recognize, something complex and elegant and somehow old-fashioned. He moved his mouth close to my ear. Then he spoke, and each word was like a savage little kiss. “You shouldn’t come looking for monsters. Men like me will eat you alive.”

And then he drew back to see my reaction.

I didn’t know how I was going to react either. I was operating on a whole different level, now, something deep inside me directing things. I was just along for the ride.

I took a shaky breath and whispered, “I’m not scared of you.”

He stared deep into my eyes, appraising me, and said, “Yes you are.”

And a deep, hot oil slick seemed to sluice through me, more complex than fear, more complex than lust.

His free hand closed on my leg, just beneath the hem of my dress. His palm cupped my flesh through the nylon, his heat throbbing into me. And he stared at me, demanding an answer.

I swallowed and stared back, and the message my eyes sent was…“Continue.”

His hand rose, rasping along the dark nylon, my breathing ratcheting higher and higher with each inch. His fingers slid over my thigh...then my upper thigh. Each square millimeter he touched burned as if it was on fire, the energy crackling inward and up towards my groin. The dress was coming up along with his hand, gathering on his wrist. And then he touched the naked skin above my stocking and I realized I was panting.

He stared straight into my eyes as his fingers reached my panties. His fingertips toyed with the waistband for a second...and then continued. He moved inward, now, hoisting my dress up further with an impatient jerk of his wrist. His hand slid over my stomach and up to my chest and—

He cupped my breast, his hand weighing it in my bra. His palm throbbed warmth through the thin fabric, straight into my soft flesh. Then he squeezed—a long, lingering squeeze, and pleasure erupted in my chest and roared out to every corner of me. I tried to go up on my tiptoes, to twist, to thrash in response, but his other hand still had me pinned. I had to just stay there and take it.

I’d never been more turned on.

And then I heard a noise in my earpiece, a soft intake of breath. They’re listening to this!

And my mouth said, “I have to go,” even as my body demanded that I stay right where I was.

Luka had his eyes half-closed. He just remained there, studying me for another few seconds. He gave my breast one last, unexpected squeeze and I gasped as it sent a ripple of heat through me. Then he released me and my dress fell back into place.

Operating on autopilot, I grabbed my violin case and opened the door. I’d taken two steps out into the hallway before I remembered the bodyguard on the stairs. He turned at the sound of the door opening and his jaw dropped. He reached under his jacket—maybe for a radio, maybe for a gun.

But then I heard Luka emerge behind me, and whatever nod or gesture he made to his bodyguard made the man step back immediately and clear a path for me. I didn’t turn around. I just hurried down the stairs, violin banging against my hip, threw the front door wide and headed straight for the cherry-red SUV. Adam was already inside and waiting and I could see the concern in his eyes. But he faked a fatherly smile and opened the door for me. I quickly climbed inside.

We roared away and the last image I had of the house, in the rear view mirror, was Luka in the doorway, thoughtfully watching me go.

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